


The Ancient Limbs

by sleepfight



Series: The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner [1]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Bloodletting, Fencing, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Male De Sardet, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Naut Magic, Near Death Experiences, Near Drowning, Now Featuring ART, Peril At Sea, Pre-Relationship, Spoilers, Storms, The Real Reason Vasco Was Laid-Off, The Voyage To Tir Fradi, Transgender Characters, Unconventional Families, Vasco's A Sweetheart But Kinda Mean About It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-12-22 11:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepfight/pseuds/sleepfight
Summary: Percival De Sardet spends the voyage to Tir Fradi doing his best to keep occupied and out of the way but in such close quarters, bonding is inevitable. As the miles go by, Percy finds himself befriended by the crew of theSea-Horseand more than a little curious about her reclusive captain.But the sailors are tight-lipped when it comes to their ways and in the midst of a devastating storm, Percy is mistakenly involved in an event no one outside the Nauts has witnessed in over a hundred years. An ancient tradition rooted in secrecy and blood is revealed and Percy learns a truth that could destroy the Nauts forever.





	1. Chapter 1

When one is not a sailor, there isn’t much to do while at sea for half a year.

Percy has been doing his best to keep himself occupied and out of the way but it’s difficult to keep from wandering after he’s exhausted his collection of books and Kurt has grown tired of losing at cards. His quarters aboard the _ Sea-Horse _are definitely an upgrade from the rattling carriages of his travels back on the continent. His bed is comfortable and firm, layered in heavy, colorful quilts and his shelves came pre-stocked with enough scrolls and games to theoretically keep him entertained for the whole voyage. There is even a supply of wine in his cabin that is mysteriously replenished every so often. By any standard, the accommodations are fine but Percy still finds himself restless and aching for excitement, anything to distract him from the endless, unchanging stretch of blue outside his porthole. And despite their reputation for subterfuge, Percy has found the Nauts to be quite hospitable. Friendly, even.

So Percy wanders. 

He spends the first month familiarizing himself with the ship and all her dark corners, finding the little signs of life lived aboard. He looks for the handrails that are worn smooth, touched by the palms of a hundred men, and follows them into the common areas where crewmen lounge in their time off. Behind stacked rolls of canvas, he unearths a small storage room that has been converted into a library with just enough room for a single, plush chair. Amid the rows of almanacs and historical records there is a shelf of obviously well-loved poetry, the only tomes in the collection without dust clinging to their spines, pages dog-eared in a silent reminder to someday return. He finds, to his great delight, some childish vandalization carved into the wall of the lav.

_ Absalom looks like a skelped erse! _

This discovery interests Percy more than any other. It humanizes the Nauts in a way he sorely needed, particularly after his frosty introduction to the captain in Sérène. He’s loathe to admit it but Percy has harbored somewhat of an infatuation with Vasco since meeting him in the port. The weight of his commanding presence and the sharp, almost delicate features of his narrow, tattooed face were enough to set Percy’s heart pounding but Vasco’s concern and dedication to the safe return of his cabin boy had stirred something else within him. Something curious and, shamefully, a little confused. 

Because Percy came to Vasco with a head full of negative presumptions based on nothing but rumors he’d heard about the Nauts. Stories and gossip from his fellow nobles about piracy and secrets and magic shaped his expectations and Vasco’s respectful, keen nature had been a genuine surprise, his compassion even moreso. He can still recall his shock at the soft warmth in Vasco’s honey-brown eyes when he thanked Percy for bringing his cabin boy home.

That shock was quickly overtaken by an obsessive need to learn more about the young captain and his people. After all, if Percy could have his illusions about the Nauts shattered so thoroughly by one man, what else could he have gotten wrong? Enough to cause a diplomatic disaster if presented at the wrong time, he’s sure.

The rest of the crew seem to sense that Percy is quietly observing them because after a few weeks at sea, he begins receiving social invitations from several of the sailors he's befriended, Flavia and Lauro most notably. The two of them had spread word of Percy’s involvement in Jonas’ safe return and their kind assessment has given Percy casual access to the Nauts in a way he is sure very few passengers have had the privilege of experiencing. 

He’s found that he quite enjoys the rambunctious company of the _ Sea-Horse _ crew. Up until this point in his life, Percy has walked a relatively sheltered path, surrounded by doting courtiers and his disinterested, estranged relatives, all of whom engaged with him through the forced politeness of politics. He has always known respect for his station, a bit of resentment as well, but to have anyone show genuine interest in what he had to say was rare and Percy has had few real friends other than his beloved cousin. And while Constantin has never shied away from pranks or sharp banter with Percy, it has been refreshing to mingle with people who aren’t afraid to laugh at his expense. The Nauts are unimpressed by titles or clout and for the most part, they have treated him like a normal man. 

Percy isn’t quite used to the feeling yet. 

But despite so many entertaining evenings of drink and fable with his new companions, one Naut remains a complete mystery to Percy. 

He has heard stories about Vasco. His crew is all too willing to recount past voyages where they claim Vasco was the only tether that kept them all from sinking to a watery grave. They tell him Vasco is a brave and just man, talented beyond his years, but few seem to know anything about the captain on a personal level. They know he is twenty-four years old and sea-given and that is about all.

The _ Sea-Horse _is not a small vessel and it seems strange to Percy that among fifty working sailors, not a single one of them knows anything about the man who commands them.

He voices this concern over dice one night, a fortnight from their destination and on a rare occasion where the first mate has deigned to join their game. 

First mate Hafsteinn cuts an imposing figure. She is older than many of the crew, in her fifties if Percy were to wager a polite guess, and is a full head taller than almost everyone aboard, able to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Kurt during the morning roll call. She's been cordial to him and his party, not quite familiar but kind enough to notice and cull his boredom by including him and Constantin in the daily deck brief. 

He’s also been told that Hafsteinn has known Vasco since he was a boy and assumes if anyone is close to the elusive captain, it will be her. So Percy bides his time until the candles have burned down to their wicks and the others have retired to bed, waiting until they are alone on the deck before making his inquiry. 

“The captain?” Hafsteinn asks and her teeth clack on the tobacco pipe held between her thin lips as she raises a match to light it, the orange glow deepening the wrinkles of her weathered face. She’s still in her uniform but has set her tricorn on the bench beside her, letting her plaited hair fall over one broad shoulder in a thick rope of black and gray. “He’s a capable man who is taking you where you need to go, what else could you wish to know?” 

Her tone is not obviously hostile but her gaze holds a dangerous edge when she looks up from her pipe at Percy. She taps a finger on the edge of the table, waiting for him to speak, her body language a warning in its own regard.

Percy shrugs and fiddles with the laces of his light coat, just confident enough from the wine at dinner to not wilt beneath her heavy stare but not so daring as to meet her eyes. 

“I was told you have known him the longest and I suppose I’m just... curious what he is like,” he begins slowly. “The crew speaks highly of him and yet one might think a ghost were captaining this ship for how often I’ve seen him interact with the men in their downtime. I’ve barely seen him speak a word to anyone outside of ordering them around.”

“The captain values his privacy.”

“That’s understandable for a man of his station,” Percy says and trails off a bit, thinking of all the faceless nobles he’s met in the past and the fleeting, empty relationships he’s curated with each of them. Personal knowledge can be a nefarious tool when placed in the wrong hands. “In such close quarters, though, I wonder if that ever gets lonely.” 

Hafsteinn leans back in her seat and considers him for a long moment, drawing from her pipe and blowing a slow, lazy ring of smoke that shivers and dissipates into the crisp evening breeze. He thinks at first that he’s overstepped his bounds and that she isn’t going to speak further so it is a pleasant surprise when she sighs, a rumbling sound from deep in her chest, and hunches forward so that her conspiratorial murmur is not also carried on the wind.

“I’ve known Vasco for many years,” she says. “I was a sailmaker to the _ Sea-Horse _when Vasco was first assigned to her as a cabin boy. He must have been, oh, around eleven or so. Captaincy has mellowed his temperament, he was a hellish little sprog in his learning years.”

She pauses and blows smoke out of her nose, a far-away but mirthful gleam in her expression. “Quite the gifted piper as well if I remember correctly.”

Percy blinks at her. “Wait, when you say _ Sea-Horse, _ do you mean _ this Sea-Horse _?”

“Of course,” Hafsteinn says. “There are a limited number of command positions and many of us stay with our ships throughout our entire careers. It is not so different from a less adventurous nobel never leaving his home city, I would imagine.” 

She reaches forward to tap out the ash from her pipe into the metal tray on the table before dipping two fingers into her purse to refill it. As she settles back in her seat to light her tobacco again, Percy digests her comparison 

“So Vasco has been here, on the same ship, for fifteen years?”

“That is correct, of which he has been in command for two.”

“And you don’t think it odd that even after all that time, he is not…” The thought tangles on his tongue and Percy grimaces, realizing that he has veered into much more personal territory than intended. He is still on unsure footing when it comes to what might offend the Nauts and gossiping behind the captain’s back seems like it might be high on that list. 

“Is it not strange that he does not seem more at home, then?” He finishes lamely.

Hafsteinn narrows her brown eyes. She sets her pipe down on the table with a closed fist, loud in the quiet of night.

“I think, legate, that you are making some presumptions about a culture very different from your own.” Hafsteinn crosses her arms and stares down her nose at Percy, a sneer curling around the word ‘legate’ as she speaks it. “Vasco’s story is not mine to tell but to assert that a Naut does not feel comfortable at sea is so obscenely ridiculous that I really must question how you came into your role as a diplomat.” 

_ Nepotism, mostly _he almost says but catches himself before the bitterness of his life can set in and put this conversation any further off the trail than it has already gone.

“I meant no offense, my lady,” he hurries to say instead. “You are true in your assessment that I am still… learning the ropes, shall we say. I apologize if I have overstepped.” 

Hafsteinn smirks. “Oh, I’m sure the Nauts could teach you a thing or two about ropes, Excellency.” 

She sighs again and this time, turns away from Percy to stare over the deck to the calm, glass-like ocean around them. She allows them to marinate in the silence for a moment; Percy can hear the gentle lap of waves against the hull in dull rhythm that is just audible over the sound of snapping sails and creaking wood. The starlight looks endless reflected upon the horizon’s dark surface.

Finally, Hafsteinn closes her eyes and turns her attention back to Percy, the blue lines of her tattoos pulling downward with her scowl. 

“Among Nauts, the burden of command is extremely powerful and one does rise in the ranks without understanding that burden implicitly,” she says, voice low and cryptic in the flickering shadows of lamplight. “Captaincy requires a great deal of personal sacrifice and it is dangerous for a crew to become too attached to a leader who someday may lose their life to protect them. Distance is necessary when death lurks beneath every wave.”

Percy swallows, palms suddenly clammy as a shiver climbs up his back. With how pleasant their crossing has been, it’s been easy for him to forget that they are entirely at the mercy of the changing winds and Hafsteinn’s words are a stark reminder of how alone they are out here. Should danger befall their expedition, there is no one who will be able to come to their aid.

“I take it then that the captain going down with their ship is not just a philosophical value to the Nauts.”

“Aye,” Hafsteinn nods. “It is an expectation of nature.”

“Meaning?”

“That most captains know how their story will end and do what they can to cope with that knowledge.” 

She does not let him dwell on that, climbing to her feet and placing her tricorn back on her head, the finely oiled leather of her gray coat wrinkling as she moves. A bell rings on the other side of the ship, signaling the shift change. 

Hafsteinn’s hands are calloused, cold, strong and hard and Percy knows this because she leans over the table and pins him in his seat with one large palm clapped over his neck, holding him by the scruff like a misbehaving hound.

“Listen, De Sardet, I am glad to hear you’ve found some friends among us” she says, deceptively casual even as her grip tightens. “It’s been many voyages since I’ve seen a passenger so keen to find merriment with our crew, especially among travelers from your Congregation.”

Percy swallows anxiously but holds her gaze. She is only the most recent in a long line of people to challenge his mettle as legate. 

“Your men are gracious, my lady,” he says, choosing his next words with care. “My companions and I have enjoyed their company very much, though Kurt has lost more coin to Lauro than a drunk in a henhouse. You may need to conscript him to pay off the debt if things continue as they have.”

That draws a bark of hoarse laughter from Hafsteinn and she slaps his shoulder, releasing him. Percy releases the breath he hadn't meant to hold.

Hafsteinn looks amused, though.

“I get the impression your guard would sooner bet away his trousers than stay aboard any longer than he must," she says. "But if you insist on leaving us with your sea-sick fellow, I’m sure we can find a mop and bucket in his size.” 

Hafsteinn pulls away from him then, folding her arms in front of her and angling her head down so that she can look him straight in the eye from below the brim of her hat. Her shaded expression is at once serious and closed.

“Take care, De Sardet," she warns. “You are a friendlier guest than most but there are places on this ship you are not welcome. We are under your employment for the time being, do not mistake our hospitality as an invitation to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. I don’t care if it comes from a cabin boy or the captain himself, if one of us orders you to stay your curiosity, you _ will _ obey. Understood?” 

Her gruff tone leaves no room for argument and it is a physical challenge to keep from shivering. Throat dry, Percy nods.

“Understood.”

“Good,” she straightens and tips the brim of her hat at him as she steps out of the light and turns away, boots clomping on the polished deck as she makes her way to the door for the cabins below. “Sleep well, Excellency.”

* * *

He doesn’t. 

He goes back to his cabin and spends most of the night tossing and turning in his cold sheets, consumed by thoughts of sinking ships and those charged to protect them. The Congregation Of Merchants have always boasted of their close relationship with the Nauts and they have managed to build an empire out of reliable trade because it was understood by their clients that Naut ships _ always _reach their destination. The safest way to transport goods, thanks in part to the mystery of their magic, no doubt.

Now though, after his conversation with Hafsteinn, Percy is wondering if there isn’t more to it than that.

Percy was born with the gift and has trained with it his whole life. Though never particularly skilled in tooling his talent for battle, he has more than a few tricks in his repertoire, one of which has always been the ability to sense the presence of magical afterburn-- the heady smell and taste of crackling elements in the atmosphere and the disturbance in energy it leaves behind. These things have always been as clear and obvious to Percy as breathing, even as a boy.

He has sensed no trace of such magics the entire time he has been aboard.

Flopping onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes, Percy’s thoughts again wander to Vasco. It stands to reason that if anyone aboard were a master of magic, it would be the captain-- perhaps Percy has not been able to find evidence of magic use over the months simply because his interactions with Vasco have been so limited. Perhaps that is precisely _ why _Vasco has avoided him. 

Frustrated, Percy gives up on his rest and slides out of his bed into a soft pair of suede boots. 

Perhaps a pot of tea will settle him. 

He yawns and slips out of his room, heading in the direction of the galley. The sun is not yet risen and above deck, he can hear the night shift moving through their duties, cleaning and chatting and guiding the ship through the last of the late hours. He isn’t quite sure what time it is but the narrow corridor is empty and as Percy makes his way to the kitchen, he is quietly grateful that his tea will not be on the other end of a long line of hungry Nauts waiting for the breakfast bell. 

But the galley is not as empty as he’d hoped. He pushes through the carved wooden door and pauses in the threshold when he hears the hollow sound of something being dropped into a metal pot and a low, masculine voice murmuring a quiet tune. None of the table lanterns are lit but a soft glow comes from the hearth on the far side of the cabin, casting the shadow of a seated man in Percy’s path.

“Hello?” He calls, not wanting to startle whoever is working. The singing stops abruptly. “I hope I’m not intruding, I’m just looking for a bit of-- Captain?”

The shadow shifts as its owner turns to face the door and Percy blinks, more than a little surprised when he steps into the light and finds Vasco perched on a barrel before a great copper kettle, surrounded by a ring of discarded, dry garlic skins. He isn’t dressed in his coat but looks still authoritative in a comfortable brown tunic, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and light breeches, a pair of leather sandals in place of his usual boots. A gray cloth tied around his head keeps his hair back. If it not for the curling lines of ink that map his body, Percy could easily mistake him for a servant back home.

“De Sardet,” Vasco inclines his head in greeting and motions for Percy to take a seat at the table beside the hearth. “A mite early for the ruling class to rise. Can I do something for you?”

Percy prickles a bit at Vasco’s thinly veiled jab at his status but is far too curious about what he’s just walked in on to take any real insult. He slides onto the bench of the table and hums in pleasure when he discovers the bubble of warmth surrounding the tiny kitchen, presumably from the clay oven Vasco is working beside. 

“I was having some trouble sleeping and thought a cup of tea might help,” Percy says. “Now, though, I’m thinking I should just hang a hammock in the galley. How is it so warm in here? Is it not dangerous to stoke a fire on a boat made entirely of flammable wood?”

“_Ship,_” Vasco corrects him, rolling his eyes and going back to his task. He loops a finger around the stem of a large bulb and yanks the papery skin down with practiced ease before breaking the cloves apart with his hands and dropping them into the pot. “But you are correct, we do not cook with fires. The oven is warmed with hearth stones brought from our island.” He glances at Percy, smirking at his confused expression. “Magic, De Sardet. Magic bricks.”

Percy huffs and shakes his head, stretching an arm out along the table so that he can rest his cheek on the inside of his elbow, tired now that he isn’t in his drafty cabin. “Mm, is _ that _the secret of Naut magic then? Baked right into the bread you eat?”

“Yes,” Vasco says, deadly serious. “And now that you’ve uncovered our greatest mystery, I’m afraid I must put you overboard lest you sell this knowledge to our enemies.”

“I might think you were serious if I hadn’t seen those very same stones being sold in Thélème as bed warmers for old women.” 

Vasco chuckles and turns from where he’s seated on the barrel to better face Percy, posture relaxed and open in the flickering light. Percy tries not to stare but he’s never seen Vasco so exposed before. He can’t help but follow the path of his tattoos down his neck and arms. The intricate line work on his forearms is darker than what is on his face, newer looking from less exposure to the sun, and it makes Percy wonder how old Vasco was when he received his first. The interlocking designs are beautiful; unique and deliberate and so unlike anything he’s seen up close before, even with access to the finest galleries and museums. Tattoos were common among many of the Congregation sailors he’s met over the years but those were always small, just a bit of colorful flair here or there to immortalize a companion or a memory. They didn't weave a story the way Vasco’s do.

Percy wishes he knew how to read them. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s dozed off in his pondering until something ceramic clinks against the table and a mug of something warm slides into his line of sight. The smell of sweet herbs washes over him like a blessing. 

“Tea?” He asks, pushing himself back up to sit properly.

“It’s what you came for, was it not?”

Now Percy laughs and wraps his hands around the brimming cup, leaning over it to inhale the fragrant steam before taking a long drink, humming contentedly at the sweet, floral taste. He’s taken a lot of tea since their departure and whatever Vasco has put in his hands is not a flavor he recognizes from the stash Constantin brought aboard.

Vasco seems to notice his reaction and pauses with his shucking to reach for a shelf behind him. He grabs a plain, unmarked tin and tosses it over the kettle for Percy to catch. 

“Our own special blend,” he says proudly while Percy opens the lid and takes a delicate sniff. “Fermented fruit and herbs grown from the island with enough vitamins to keep the scurvy away when rations get down to whatever is left salted.”

Percy squints inside the container. It is not full of loose tea leaves like he expects but is rather a gummy, brown poultice, thick like the base he often uses in crafting potions. He dips a finger into the paste and licks a sample off the tip, grimacing.

“_That _ made _ this _?” He asks incredulously. Though the fruit notes are definitely present, the sludge in the tin tastes incredibly bitter and sour, coating his tongue with an unpleasant, acidic fuzz.

Vasco shrugs and drops the last head of garlic into the pot. He reaches to his belt and draws his knife from its sheath. “It’s meant to be medicine,” he says. “Spread over a piece of biscuit, it’s palatable but water it down with a bit of honey and it makes a fine tea.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Percy says and takes a large swallow to wash the acrid flavor out of his mouth.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment while Percy drinks his tea and Vasco starts to shave salt from a pillar beside the stove, letting the white flakes fall into the kettle. It occurs to Percy then how unusual the situation really is. 

“Well then, Captain, you’ve helped me accomplish my mission.” He lifts his mug in a mock toast and grins when Vasco returns it by raising his knife. “Tell me, are you always awake before dawn to make tea for wandering insomniacs?”

Vasco gives him a wry look and shakes his head. “Not as such. I would normally be in my bed at this time but alas, it is my turn to prepare breakfast for the men.”

_ That _wakes him right up and Percy’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “You’re up at this unholy hour peeling garlic because you’re cooking for everyone? Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Vasco growls, dropping an elbow to his knee so he can lean forward and glower at Percy from atop his barrel. “The crew needs to eat. As do you and your fool cousin, if I’m not mistaken. What, you worried I can't appeal to your _ refined _sensibilities?”

And there it is again-- Vasco’s casual disdain for the world Percy inhabits.

“No, I just--” Percy shakes his head and leans forward across the table, strangely urgent to clarify himself. “I just meant, don’t you have a cook?”

“I said it is my _ turn. _There is a schedule for preparing meals and everyone on board is responsible for it, including me.”

“But you’re the _ captain, _” Percy insists. “I would think a man of your rank wouldn’t have to worry about such mundanity.”

Vasco just huffs and slides to his feet so that he can retrieve a large vessel of fresh water from below the shelves, emptying it into the kettle and wiping his hands on the tops of his thighs. 

“Cook is a job, De Sardet, not a _ rank. _” He plucks a swollen burlap sack from a pile beside the oven and slices it open over the pot, a shower of dried red lentils cascading from the tear. As the bag empties, Vasco keeps one hand planted on his hip, like he’s irritated he even needs to explain this to Percy. “We may have a professional hierarchy but when the tide goes out, we are still a family and must provide for each other.” 

Vasco gives the mixture a good stir with a long, wooden spatula before hefting up the pot with a grunt, pushing it onto the hot stove as Percy mulls over his words.

“Does that mean you clean the latrines as well?” He teases and unclenches a bit when that gets an amused snort out of Vasco. Though they haven’t spoken much since that first day in Sérène, Percy finds the conversation with Vasco to be unexpectedly easy even if the man is a touch peevish.

“Oh, aye, every second Sunday. Even the cabin boy needs a day off.”

Percy laughs heartily and tries to picture Vasco scrubbing the floors but the thought of him on his hands and knees starts to wake Percy up in a way he does not care to examine too closely and he coughs into his elbow, quickly changing the subject. 

“So then,” he says, wetting his lips to chase away the sudden dryness in his mouth. “What does a Naut captain make when it is his turn to prepare breakfast?” 

“Lentil stew with garlic.”

“A favored recipe of yours?”

Vasco shakes his head. “It is late enough into our voyage that the stores of fresh produce were beginning to rot and we butchered the last of the cattle weeks ago. This is simply what we have left until we make landfall, ” Vasco says. He places a lid over the pot and then lifts himself back onto his barrel, crossing an ankle over one knee, and pulls the rag off his head to wipe the sweat from his brow. He meets Percy’s eyes and shrugs, a little sheepishly.

“It is also the _ only _recipe I know,” he admits. 

Percy grins as the aroma of cooking food begins to fill the cramped cabin, the pink sunlight of dawn an opaque filter through the eastern portholes. “Not your greatest talent, I take it?”

Vasco shakes his head. “I’m a fast swimmer and a damn fine navigator but I’m afraid I lack the… creativity required for such endeavors. Cooking is an art, so I’m told, and I am no aesthete.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I would go that far,” Percy says as he drains the last of his tea and Vasco pulls a smaller pot from the stove to refill his cup. “Your tattoos are certainly a work of art.”

He pauses and smirks, thinking back to his conversation with Hafsteinn and the quiet singing he heard when he walked in on Vasco earlier. “I also have it on good authority that you have a proclivity toward music.”

Vasco sets his jaw, the previously relaxed expression on face shuttering, and Percy wants to kick himself for even bringing it up.

“Someone has been talking out of turn,” he growls. “Been speaking with Hafsteinn, have you?”

Percy starts to apologize but as he looks at Vasco--really looks at him--he realizes that the stiff, uncomfortable bow of Vasco’s back is not anger, but embarrassment. Even in the low light, Percy can see the flush rise high on his sharp cheek.

“I may have asked around,” Percy confesses and traces a fingertip over the worn wood of the tabletop, a little bashful himself for making Vasco uncomfortable. “I had no ill intent, I assure you, I was merely curious since we haven’t spoken much.” 

“And does every sailor you meet inspire such inquisitiveness or am I just special?” 

Now it is Percy’s turn to blush and he gulps his tea, hopeful that any color in his face is obscured by the mug in his hand. He doesn’t need to make this any more awkward.

Vasco sighs and scratches the back of his neck, intently focused on a spot somewhere on the floor below him. “Well, it’s true enough that we sailors enjoy a good shanty so yes, I suppose you could say I have a certain... affinity for music, even if I haven’t much time for it these days.”

“Hafsteinn mentioned that you used to play the pipes as a cabin boy,” Percy prods carefully. He really ought to quit while he’s ahead but even after so many years of pulling Constantin’s fat from the fire, it seems he has still never learned to keep his mouth shut. “Do you still pick up your horns from time to time?” 

And oh, yes, he really, _ really _should get better at holding his tongue because Vasco turns a rather fetching shade of crimson and practically leaps off his barrel to busy himself with the bubbling kettle, back turned and too straight to be anything but forced.

“It’s, uh…” Vasco clears his throat. “Not that kind of pipe,” he mutters and throws a handful of dried chilis into the pot, a telegraphed gesture that is clearly an excuse to keep from looking back at Percy. It’s rather sweet but Percy keeps that thought to himself. 

“I had a bad habit of getting into mischief as a boy,” Vasco explains. “My mentor gave me a tin whistle to keep my hands busy and out of trouble. It became a habit.”

That makes Percy smile, bringing a new kind of warmth to his face. He has a hard time imagining what Vasco must have looked like as a child, bare-faced and apparently full of piss and vinegar, but it’s easy to conjure the image of him as he is now, rough and hardy, with his long, calloused fingers playing delicately over a flute. 

“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” he grins. “I didn’t think to bring my violin along but I bet one of your men has a fiddle I might make use of. Perhaps we could entertain the crew together one of these nights?” 

Vasco chuffs and the tension in the air breaks as he leans a hip against the table and rolls out his shoulder, a wan smirk overtaking his previously pinched expression. “I’m afraid I must decline,” he says. “As enjoyable as that sounds, I _ am _the captain and it wouldn’t benefit any of us to lose the respect of those I command.” 

As if on cue, the door creaks as it is pushed open. A few sailors have started to trickle into the galley, the earliest risers of the morning rotation filling their cups with tea and watery beer before the night-shift bell can ring and bring forth the morning rush. Flavia is among them and she gives Percy a mellow half-salute when she spots him, crossing to his table.

“‘Morning, 'Cap, Excellency” she yawns and drops down on the bench beside Percy, listing to the side so that she can rest her bald head on his shoulder and loop an arm around his to help brace her tired slump. 

Though they’ve become friends since resolving the situation with Jonas, the casual physicality he’s experienced among the Nauts still catches him off guard from time to time. This sort of public, unmarried touch was always frowned on at court--if not outright forbidden--and Flavia’s disregard for his personal space never fails to stir bubbles of happiness within him. It makes him feel welcome in a floating box full of strangers, something his familiars at court never could accomplish.

A line has begun to form beside the table and Vasco surprises him again by remaining at his post by the stove, taking and filling the bowls of each sailor as they pass by for their share of stew and greeting them each by name as they come. There isn’t much room to eat in the galley so many of them take their breakfast back to their shared sleeping quarters or to the deck above where they will soon begin the morning work. Flavia stays where she is, though, dozing until Vasco sets a bowl in front of each of them. 

“Thank you, sir,” she mumbles and peels herself into an upright position, taking the spoon Vasco hands her and passing the extra to Percy but making no move to tuck into her breakfast. “The cloud master predicts fair weather today, shall I come to see you for a lesson after the afternoon call?”

“Aye, bring Jonas and the others with you as well, this may be the last chance we have before we start preparations for our landing.” After the last man has been served, Vasco scrapes the remaining stew out of the kettle into three separate bowls, taking one for himself and covering the other two with a clean cloth. Percy’s heart warms when he realizes the other two bowls must be for Kurt and Constantin who have yet to make an appearance.

“Lesson?” Percy asks, energized by the prospect of another activity he might be able to catch Vasco in. “What are you learning?”

“Fencing,” Flavia says. “You should join us if you’ve a mind, the cap’n has a steadier hand than most. Might have a thing or two to teach even a noble bastard like yourself.”

Percy looks to Vasco for his acquiescence and Vasco just shrugs, stepping out of the kitchen to fill a mug with ale, taking a long drink and then topping it off once more before striding to the entryway. “Don’t see why not,” he says, paused with a hand on the door. “Meet us on the quarter-deck after the second bell."

"Bring your gear if you have it," Flavia adds. 

“I will,” Percy replies with badly concealed eagerness. “Thank you again for breakfast, Captain.”

Vasco grunts something that sounds suspiciously like ‘my pleasure’ and then takes his leave, passing Kurt as he enters from the other side. Percy waves him over and points to the bowls Vasco left on the table.

“Miss Flavia, Greenblood,” Kurt greets them, tired but freshly washed and shaved. He looks pale, as he has for the entire voyage, but his lingering bout of sea-sickness seems to be giving him a reprieve this morning as he takes his stew and settles at the table opposite Percy, ravenously shoving a spoonful into his mouth.

A bite that he immediately spits back into the bowl.

“Ugh!” Kurt grimaces and reaches for his drink, downing the whole cup. “What is this? It’s awful.”

Percy blinks, a little shocked. He hasn’t tried his own portion yet and when he looks over at Flavia, he finds that she has not either, stew still untouched on the table before her. Curious, he lifts the bowl to his lips and takes a small sip. 

Kurt is right. It’s really, really terrible. 

It is somehow too salty and too watery all at once and the burn of far too much garlic makes his eyes water. He manages to swallow it but only with the assistance of a lot of tea.

“Wanted to warn ya,” Flavia laughs. “The cap is many things but a good cook is not one of them.”

She takes a deep breath and sits up in her chair before picking up her bowl and drinking it down as quickly as she can, shuddering as she chases it with ale. She stands up and claps Kurt on the shoulder as she moves around him to drop her dirtied dish in the wash bin. 

"And it should go without saying that you didn’t hear that from me,” she says, fixing Percy with a serious look.

Kurt smirks. “What’s the matter, sailor, afraid your captain will hang you up by your toes?”

She chuckles and roots around in the cabinets until she finds a jar of pickled cabbage and a few strips of dried fish. She sets them both on the table. “He’d have to string us all up if that were the case. There ain’t a man aboard who looks forward to Cap’s kitchen day but it seems to make him happy so no one wants to be the one to complain.”

She nods at the fish and preserves, which Kurt reaches for gratefully. “Mash your stew a bit and smother it with sauerkraut,” she says. “Eat the fish if you still can’t stomach it. I’ll see you later, your excellency.”

Percy nods and watches her disappear into the hall, off to report for her shift. Kurt is saying something, probably making a joke at Vasco’s expense, but Percy is too distracted for it to quite reach his ears. Something Flavia said is nagging at him, trying to dredge a memory from his overtired mind.

_ It seems to make him happy. _

There was a certain degree of wistfulness to her words, almost a sadness. He’s heard that tone before, back when they were still in Sérène and the most pressing matter at hand was a missing cabin boy.

_ Lauro, twisting his fingers in worry, looks away from Percy when asked for his opinion of Vasco. _

_ “It’s a pity that he hasn’t much heart for laughs now and again. Always seems unhappy, our captain.” _

It would seem the men under Vasco’s command are both concerned and dedicated to his happiness in a way Percy would expect to see between friends or family, not from a structured hierarchy of command. If what Hafsteinn said was true, then it stands to reason that many of the crew on board the _ Sea-Horse _ have known Vasco for most of his adult life and must have seen the progression from “hellish sprog” to the aloof, solitary captain he is today. At which point did Vasco’s unhappiness become so obvious that his crew became willing to choke down sludge just to make him feel appreciated?

Probably around the same time Vasco started to believe that a flute would make him a less capable captain in the eyes of his men.

Kurt snaps his fingers in Percy’s face, trying to get his attention. “You’ve got that look, Greenblood and I don’t like it.”

“And what look would that be?” He asks and quickly shovels down his breakfast before it gets cold and even less appetizing. 

“The same look you’d get at court when anyone was foolish enough to allow you within ten paces of your cousin.” He leans over the table and fixes Percy with a long, considering stare. “You’re scheming.”

“I assure you, I am doing nothing of the sort." Percy smiles and rises from the bench, a plan already forming in his mind as he cycles through the names of everyone he’ll need to talk to, Constantin being the first among them. 

“I’ll speak with you later, Kurt,” he says finally. “I have a fencing lesson to prepare for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically, I was kind of disappointed by the revelation that the Nauts don't actually use magic and this is me trying to speculate on what could have been. Of all the factions in Greedfall, I found the Nauts to be the most interesting and I wanted to explore their guild a bit more in terms of the kind of relationship they have with nature and the possibility that they have more in common with the culture of Tir Fradi than they let on. 
> 
> This is hopefully the first in a short series of stories that will expand on Vasco's backstory leading up to an eventual relationship with De Sardet. 
> 
> Thank you to [ArchadianSkies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies) for beta reading this chapter for clarity and grammar! I am also looking for a beta reader who is familiar with the game and characters, please DM me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sleepfights) or [tumblr](https://sleepfight.tumblr.com) if you're interested!
> 
> Thank you for reading, I'll be back with the next chapter soon!


	2. Chapter 2

When Flavia had put words to the idea of Percy joining her for their weekly fencing lesson, he'd leapt at the chance to see Vasco in his element. It stood to be a good, neutral activity that would allow him to learn more about his reclusive host while also receiving critique of his skills from someone other than Kurt, who by now knows Percy's every tell.

So when the sun is high at midday, Percy pulls a lame from his stored luggage and makes his way to the quarterdeck, spirits high with the expectation of an educational afternoon. 

What he did not expect, however, is the shameful shot of heat to his face the moment Vasco steps onto the deck with a foil in his hand, stripped down to comfortable, well-fit breeches and nothing else. 

More intricate tattoo work runs down the length of Vasco’s strong shoulders and arms, thin, connected lines that begin at his neck and weave in and out of each other all the way to his fingers. They draw Percy’s eyes downward, past the light freckles on his tanned shoulders to his trim belly, adorned with further marks of staunch, black ink. He is compact and lean, barefoot as he strides past Percy with a hand on his hilt, and the sun catches on the gold barbels that pierce through each of his brown nipples. 

The jewelry alone is enough to make Percy feel faint but he is far, _ far _more interested in the twin scars Vasco has on his chest, just below each pectoral. The scars are faded--old--and partially obscured by a crop of light hair, but Percy still recognizes them at once. They match the marks on his own chest.

He watches Vasco make his rounds, heart beating an excited rhythm in his throat. He has a million questions he wants to ask now, about the Nauts, about their culture, about the words they use to define a man, but his brain keeps getting stuck on the thought that perhaps he and Vasco have something in common after all. 

“Fine of you to join us today,” Vasco says after greeting his gathered crew, coming to stand in the shadow of the mast where Percy is doing his best to keep his eyes from wandering. “I wasn’t aware you had an interest in fencing.”

Still a little awestruck, Percy just nods. “Yes, ah, I have some limited experience in the sport but Flavia suggested you might teach me a thing or two about keeping my feet under me.” 

Vasco’s gaze sweeps from Percy’s face to his clothes and he arches an eyebrow, amused.

“Well, your excellency, I’m sure I can teach you that but I’m afraid if you are looking for _ sport, _I won’t be of much use to you. This is training, not running drills for a tournament.” He gestures at Percy’s pristine, white lame and grins crookedly. “Though I see you came dressed for one.”

At that moment, Percy becomes keenly aware of the muffled snickers coming from the other Nauts, none of whom are wearing any sort of protection. Many of them are simply in their trousers and boots, following their captain’s example by discarding their shirts. Percy finds Flavia in the small crowd and shoots her a dark look that she returns with a shark-like grin, bent over a box with her chin innocently propped in her hands like she hasn’t embarrassed the hell out of him by telling him to come in his gear.

Clearing his throat, Percy ignores the burn in his cheeks. 

“It does appear that I am over-dressed for the occasion, yes,” he says. “Though in my defense, the instructors of my youth would have tanned my hide for entering the piste in my day clothes.”

“Well, how lucky for you then that we do not have a piste.” 

Vasco claps Percy on the shoulder and pushes past him, gesturing with two fingers for Flavia to join him as the rest of the waiting crew forms a loose circle around them. As she approaches the center, Percy realizes that like many of her crewmates, Flavia has opted to practice without a shirt and he spends a long minute trying to forget everything he has ever learned about noble propriety as she takes up her foil and settles into position. Vasco does not lift his own weapon but spends a moment examining her before moving to her side so that he can touch her elbow, lightly correcting her stance. He asks her to demonstrate a lunge, which she does, and then falls back into her starting position again. She does this several more times while Vasco and the others observe.

Jonas, biding time until his turn, plunks down beside Percy on the deck and offers him a waterskin which Percy pulls from gratefully. 

“Alright there, m’lord?” He asks, eyes sparkling. “You look a little flushed.”

“I _ feel _a little flushed,” Percy admits. He shakes his head and curses but there is little heat behind it. “Had I known the dress code would be so… informal, I would have come better prepared.”

Jonas quirks an eyebrow and looks from Percy to Vasco, who is still critiquing Flavia’s form, demonstrating himself how her feet should be in a wider stance. “What, you mean Flavia?” He asks and laughs. “Don’t tell me you nobles are so delicate that all it takes is a naked breast to turn your tide.”

“What? No! I wasn’t looking at--” Percy clears his throat loudly. “I just meant that I would not have come in full suit if I had known it wasn’t necessary. That is all.”

Jonas snorts but he does look a little sympathetic when that just makes Percy sulk further. “Ah, don’t be cross, Excellency, I’m sure no one meant to mislead you. It’s easy to sometimes forget how different things are on land. You lot make things more complicated than we’re used to.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well,” Jonas muses and leans back on his elbows, looking up at the clear, blue sky. “It’s hot as a potter’s kiln today, our only shade is from the sails, and we practice with blunt weapons. No point sweating to death in a full set of gear when there ain’t real blades to get hurt on, right?”

“That is remarkably practical.”

Jonas shrugs. “Naut life is hard. Best to keep things simple where we can.”

They pass Jonas’ water back and forth a few more times while they turn to watch Vasco and Flavia again. They have moved to cross swords and soon, the sound of metal shivering against metal begins to fill the humid air as Vasco lunges and Flavia dances around him, quick feet moving in practiced parries that Percy recognizes from his own training. 

Though the basic techniques are similar, there is a looseness to the way they both move that suggests the Nauts have their own methods of form. Their maneuvers are graceful and fluid, clear, cutting and strong like moving water. Each stroke of Vasco’s foil is followed by a gesture that keeps him in motion, movements that run in and out of each other, waves that crash and recede from the shore, beautiful but dangerous. He’s holding back but if Percy looks close enough, he can see the riptide that hides in the shallows.

He thinks Flavia is doing well but it’s a little harder for Percy to keep his eyes on her. Partially because he is quite hypnotized by Vasco’s elegant posture but also because he half expects De Courcillon to appear at any moment to drag him away by the ear for a lecture on respecting a lady’s privacy.

He is a little envious, though. The lame itches something awful and Percy can feel sweat gathering beneath his many layers of hot clothing. But unlike Vasco, he does not yet have the confidence to bare himself to the sun’s warm rays, even if the idea is more than a little enticing.

“High-outside! Pay attention!” Vasco shouts and Percy looks up just in time to see Flavia stumble backwards, the tip of Vasco’s foil pulling away from her shoulder. She regains her balance and shakes out her limbs.

“Sorry, ‘Cap,” she pants, bouncing on her toes. They are both breathing hard and Flavia swipes the back of her wrist across her forehead to wick the sweat away. “I’ll do better. Let’s go again.”

“No,” Vasco juts his chin out toward the barrel of fresh water across the deck. “It’s too hot, go take a break and get the wind back in your sails. Absalom, you’re up.”

A young man with knobby limbs and pocked face breaks out of the crowd and the lesson begins anew. One by one, each of the young sailors take a turn with the captain, first to have their form critiqued and then to spar him until he inevitably bests their attempt and sends them to the barrel for a drink. Vasco’s criticism is harsh but not unkind and it is quite clear that he is just as invested in training his crew as Kurt ever was with Percy or Constantin. 

At no point does he stop for a break himself, though. 

Jonas is the last to go and Percy notices that Vasco’s muscular back is soaked with sweat, fat beads of it sliding down his spine to collect in the shallow divot above his hips. He still looks perfectly composed as he takes his position opposite Jonas but he can tell Vasco is beginning to wilt under the burn of the afternoon sun by the way he keeps wetting his lips and adjusting the grip he has on his blade, like his palms are too slick to hold it.

He looks debauched. It makes Percy wish he had a raw potato to bite into. 

Jonas doesn’t last five minutes against his captain and before long, Vasco is scraping him off the deck and nudging him in the direction of the canteen. He seems pleased, though, and he tells Jonas so, making the young man beam as he makes his way over to his comrades, grinning at Percy as he passes.

The mood is infectious and Percy cannot help but to respond in kind. 

“Nicely done,” he compliments. “You’re leagues better than I was at your age.”

“You didn’t have Vasco as a teacher,” Jonas laughs and bows his head, modest. “I am still learning but thank you, Excellency.”

As Jonas joins Flavia and refills his waterskin, Percy watches Vasco saunter to the port side of the ship where he leans against the rail, pulling a cloth from his belt up to mop off his face. The vision he makes, all heated skin and swirling tattoos, brings a flush to Percy’s face that has nothing to do with the temperature, and it propels him to the water barrel before he can let his gaze linger.

“Ready for the cap to smear ya six ways from Sunday, Legate?” Flavia teases when he approaches. 

She hands Percy a tin cup to dip into the lukewarm water but he doesn’t move to fill it right away, turning back to subtly check on Vasco instead. He hasn’t moved from his spot by the bannister and is staring pensively out at the calm ocean waters, still as a statue even as the sun beats down upon him. Something in his expression looks troubled.

Flavia catches him staring and prods his ribs with the sharp bone of her elbow. “He’s been off all day,” she says under her breath, sipping her water. She leans into Percy’s side in a deliberate push to move him away from the barrel. “Go bring him a drink before your turn, he’ll appreciate it.”

Flustered by being caught, Percy hurries to fill the tin and crosses the deck to where Vasco is hunched, back faced to him and tenser than it was when the lesson first began. He straightens up slightly when he hears Percy’s footsteps but does not turn around.

“There’s been a change in the waves,” Vasco murmurs, long fingers curling into the weathered wood. “Can you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

Vasco startles and whips around. “Your excellency,” he says. He takes a step back. “My apologies, I thought you were someone else.”

“No, just me.” Percy lifts the water and offers it to Vasco, who takes it and drains the cup in a few long gulps, his smooth throat bobbing distractingly with each swallow. “I thought you might need some respite after such an impressive performance.”

Vasco makes a satisfied hum after finishing his drink and fixes Percy with a wry grin, tongue darting out to catch a drip of water from the corner of his mouth. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he drawls. “But if you’re trying to get me to go easy on you, I’m afraid you’ll have to bring a better libation, Excellency.” 

“I’ll make sure to bring the good rum next time, then,” Percy smiles. He steals a glance back to Vasco’s face and finds him gazing out over the ocean again, lips pursed. On the surface, he appears relaxed and calm but years of playing the game at court has given Percy a keen eye for people wearing masks. Something is bothering Vasco and he is trying to hide it.

“You don’t have to call me that, you know,” Percy says. 

“Hmm?”

“We’ve been at sea now for almost half a year and you’ve always referred to me by title. I do have a name.”

Vasco stretches his long, angular body so that he can face Percy, back pressed to the banister, and crosses his legs at the ankles, the very picture of put-upon boredom. “I might have heard a rumor,” he says. “But I figured I ought to at least pretend like I respect your station since you’re paying my wages for now.”

After all these months in the company of Flavia and the others, Percy has started to realize that the Nauts often bond through good-natured ribbing so this time, he chooses to read Vasco’s glibness as an attempt at being familiar rather than insulting. It is strange but it settles his nerves to have Vasco tease him, even if it makes him sort of want to slap him as well.

What would it take to make Vasco say please, he wonders. 

“Oh, I think Flavia has quite demonstrated that none of you respect me,” he smirks. “So we may as well drop the act.”

He fluffs his posture and makes a show of bowing formally to Vasco, the way he would to any number of noble suitors back home, and allows himself enough boldness to take Vasco’s hand in his, pretending to kiss his ring. 

“Legate Percival De Sardet of the Congregation of Merchants,” he says with a flourish. “A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Captain.”

This draws a burst of genuine laughter from Vasco. His face cracks into a wide smile that makes the tattoos on his cheek dance and Percy’s heart stutter in his chest. 

“Woof, _ Percival _,” Vasco groans. “Must do something about that. Absolutely top-tier toff.”

“Percy,” he says. It is a battle to keep his tongue from tripping on his words, so wrapped up he is in the light blanket of Vasco’s humor and the way his name sounds when it rolls from the gravel of Vasco’s voice. “My friends call me Percy.”

“Is that what we are?” Vasco asks and suddenly there is a curl of interest in his words. He leans in and looks up at Percy through his long, black eyelashes, tilting his head in a way that reminds Percy of port-crows, equal parts mischievous and curious, bold and unafraid. “Friends?”

“I’d like us to be, even if it’s just for a few more weeks” Percy replies, mouth dry. He folds his hands behind his back before he can do anything _ really _ stupid like brush the damp hair away from Vasco’s temple to tuck it behind his ear. “It never hurts to have friends, especially in foreign lands.”

“Spoken like a true diplomat,” Vasco smirks but then extends his hand for Percy to shake firmly. “Okay then, _ Percy, _since we’re being friendly, I suppose you should call me Vasco, shouldn’t you?”

“Ah, but you see, I actually _ do _respect your rank, Captain,” Percy says and smiles when that makes Vasco laugh again. It’s a rough sound, like he is out of practice, but it still makes Percy's breath hitch. 

Vasco grins and lifts a hand so that he can push his hair back from his sticky forehead. “Would you believe me if I said you’re the first passenger who has ever said that?” He asks. “Most of the merchants we ferry around don’t think twice about treating the crew like servants, including me.”

That makes Percy’s brow furrow. Though he has never held a command position within the Congregation until now, he still feels responsible for their reputation. With so much of their success hinging on good relations with the Nauts, it surprises him to hear that they have made such a bad impression on previous crossings-- he will need to write to his uncle about this when they make landfall. 

Percy sets his jaw, serious. “I apologize if any of my compatriots have treated you or the crew poorly,” he says. “I have seen first hand how hard everyone on this b--_ ship _ works, I hope I have not given anyone the impression that I expect them to wait on my cousin or I.”

He pauses, thinking back to early dawn when the ship was quiet and Vasco kept him company by the hearth. It was kind of him to allow Percy to stay, kinder still to fix him tea and save a portion of breakfast for his companions, inedible as it was. 

“I never thanked you properly for this morning,” he says before his thoughts can get away from him. “Please do not feel obligated to entertain me should I interrupt you again.”

Vasco looks taken aback, scrunching up his face in a lopsided, perplexed frown. “What, you mean the tea?” He waits for Percy to nod. “Bah, that wasn’t an obligation, that was _ tea. _You can make it for me next time if it bothers you. Treat me to a spot of that fancy swill I know your cousin has squirreled away in the hold.”

_ Next time. _

“Next time,” Percy agrees with a smile. 

He starts to turn their conversation back to the task at hand, boiling as he is in his lame, but Vasco’s attention has drifted back to the open ocean, cat-like eyes scanning the waves.

“What did you mean before?” Percy asks, emboldened by this new, tentative camaraderie with Vasco.

“Hm?”

“You said something about the waves,” he clarifies. “You asked if I could hear it?”

Vasco shifts on his feet, tension suddenly present in the sinuous line of his back. “Ah, just a little turn of phrase,” he says. His tone is disinterested but it sounds forced, a current of unease in each word. “We Nauts spend enough time reading weather patterns that it sometimes seems like the sea is speaking to us.”

“And what was the ocean telling you?”

Vasco considers him for a quiet, intense moment.

“That something is coming,” he says.

Vasco scowls, an unhappy crease wrinkling his brow as he looks away from Percy. Hafsteinn has appeared on the other side of the deck and is staring at Vasco with her arms crossed and a foul expression on her face. It is clear she needs him for something but is respectfully unwilling to interrupt their conversation.

“My apologies, but we will need to delay our lesson, De Sardet,” Vasco sighs at last. “I fear the tide is changing and I need to begin preparations.” He hands the tin cup back to Percy and his shoulders droop just a touch. “You should find your cousin and find a place below deck to get comfortable for the rest of the night.”

He pushes away from the banister and for a few seconds just stands beside Percy, like he isn’t quite sure how to end the conversation.

“It was good talking to you, Percy,” is what he settles on and this time, his smile is a little sad, so small and brief that Percy almost misses it. “I’ve had much on my mind of late. I appreciate the distraction, momentary as it was.”

He starts to move away but before he can get too far, Percy’s hand darts out to catch Vasco by the elbow, gently halting him.

“Let’s have tea tomorrow,” he blurts and winces at Vasco’s bewildered stare. “Only if you’re off shift, of course. Perhaps before breakfast again?” 

“I--” Vasco licks his lips and his eyes flit from Percy’s face to his feet, a strange, anxious charge building in the space between them. “If I am… able to, I would like that.”

He pulls his arm out of Percy’s hand and Percy reluctantly lets him go. He watches as Vasco makes his way to Hafsteinn who falls into step beside him, both disappearing through the door to the captain’s cabin. The lesson clearly over for now, most of the young Nauts have dispersed as well, leaving Percy alone on the deck with the few other sailors still at work. 

Percy sighs and leans his arms on the rail so he can look out at the water. He isn’t sure what to make of Vasco’s warning; the sea is calm and glittering under the setting sun, a perfect reflection of the clear, orange skies above, and the breeze is just as stagnant as its been since daybreak. As far as Percy can tell, the weather is stable. 

But he also trusts that Vasco knows what he is doing so after lingering a bit longer to watch the sunset, Percy packs up his rapier and heads below deck to find Kurt and Constantin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO I had to update the chapter estimate for this story because I didn't want to make anyone slog through the 15k update this would have been if I didn't break it up. I really wanted this chapter to get to the real action but the further I got into it, the more I realized how dense of a read it would actually be to do it that way so I hope no one is too disappointed. ;A; 
> 
> The next chapter should come very soon, I only have a few pages left to write and then it's just editing that needs doing. The next chapter also includes some art from the extremely talented [hearse](https://twitter.com/SvetozarNien) that I am very excited to share with you all. >:3c
> 
> As an aside, I am still looking for a beta reader for my Greedfall fics! Please DM me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sleepfights) or [tumblr](https://sleepfight.tumblr.com) if you're interested!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here is some musical accompaniment](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIFood246G7wBdU3-_UbLF0qA6YDrvC4l) for the chapter if you like that sort of thing.

The storm rolls in slowly.

Percy notices the drop in temperature first, just an offhand shiver from Constantin who pauses their board game to retrieve a cape from his luggage. By the time he returns to their table in the common area, rain has begun to patter against the porthole beside them and the off-duty sailors they have been playing with are starting to look a little anxious, eyes darting to the window every few minutes. Lauro in particular looks grim despite winning the last three rounds.

“Just been some time since we sailed through a storm,” he says when Percy asks him about it. “Hopefully this is the worst of it.”

Percy moves his piece across the board and then hands the dice cup to Kurt who has been out of coin for over an hour now and is just trying to win back some semblance of dignity at this point. 

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Percy says. “I’m confident Captain Vasco will handle whatever the ocean can throw at us.”

That doesn’t seem to reassure Lauro. He shares a pensive glance with the other sailors at the table that Percy is not able to translate but he nods, taking a drink of his ale. 

“Aye, that he will.” 

It’s been hours since Percy’s failed fencing lesson and he hasn’t seen Vasco since he left to speak with Hafsteinn. The rest of the crew has been in motion all evening, hurried footsteps rushing around the ship to secure cargo and tie down cabin supplies, but as far as Percy can tell, Vasco has not been among them. That seems odd after the lecture he received from him regarding the way Nauts share their work. 

“You really think so?” Constantin asks, not looking up from the board. He has his fingers steepled below his chin and a sharp glint in his eye that makes Percy weary. That look means Constantin is bored and there has never been an occasion where that has served them well. “You don’t think he’ll be too distracted?”

“Why would he be?” Lauro asks. 

Constantin shrugs, leaning back in his seat and pulling his cloak a little tighter as a gust of wind makes the glass in the porthole shudder. “Oh, I didn’t tell you?” He sing-songs. “I heard him arguing with the lovely lady Hafsteinn on my way back from dinner. Or perhaps arguing is too soft a word… brawling? Feuding?” 

“Cousin,” Percy interrupts Constantin to keep him from losing the thread of conversation before it starts. He shouldn't encourage this type of gossip but nevertheless, Percy feels the familiar tug of intrigue he gets whenever Constantin is in a mood to trade canards and can’t help himself from leaning into it. “What were they talking about?”

Constantin crosses his arms and blows a loud sigh out of his nose. “I don’t know, I did not care to stand around in this rain long enough to find out. But she was shouting something about duty, he was shouting something about contracts, blah, blah, blah.” He laughs but it sounds a bit thin. “As with most unpleasant things in life, I'm sure it involves money. At least they have the decency to--”

Light in the cabin flares violently when a crack of lightning breaks right above them. A large rumble of thunder is not far to follow and the moment the deep sound rolls through the galley, every Naut is on their feet. A bell above deck begins to clang.

“Apologies,” Lauro hurries to say, dropping a few coins on the table to buy himself out of their game. His compatriots have all disappeared up the stairs. “Time to work. We’ll pick this back up tomorrow night?”

“Sure,” Percy says and begins to ask what time but Lauro is up and away before he can, the door swinging shut behind him. 

Constantin turns to Percy and bats his eyelashes, a hand in his cape to hold his chest in mock offense. “Was it something I said?” He asks and Percy laughs with him until another streak of lightning sends a cloud of spots bursting in his eyes. The ship lurches to one side. 

Kurt, looking a bit green, swallows hard and very slowly adjusts himself so that he has both feet on the ground, palms pressed flat to the tabletop. 

“Figures,” he grumbles. “A day at last where I don’t feel like something a kraken spat out and the ocean decides to boil.”

“Could be worse,” Constantin says and grins when that makes Kurt glare at him. “You could be the poor bastard getting soaked up in the crows nest right now.”

“I don’t think anyone works up there during storms,” Percy says. Though he has not experienced much sea-sickness on their trip thus far, this is the first time the ship has moved so roughly and he has to brace himself on the bench to keep from falling out of his seat. A bit of queasiness is to be expected. “Wouldn’t that be too dangerous?”

“My dear cousin, have you met these sailors? Swashbuckling toughs, like to stab needles into their face, those sailors? Who brought a beast the size of our holiday cottage to the port in Sérène? I am quite certain the Nauts go out of their way to _seek_ danger.” Constantin huffs and shakes his head, disappointed in Percy’s lack of imagination. “I’d be willing to bet they not only have a man up in the crows nest at this very moment but in that basket on the bow as well.”

Percy starts to pack up the game board now that they are alone in the galley, careful not to let the pieces scatter. “Just for the fun of it?” 

“Why else would you put a crows nest in such a silly place?”

“Because it is not a crows nest,” Hafsteinn says from behind Constantin, who startles and bangs his knee on the underside of the table. She isn’t wearing her coat and her hair and linen blouse are soaked through, drips of rainwater marking her path from the stairs to their table. 

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt,” she greets them but sounds unapologetic and stern when she speaks. “I must inform you that an unexpected storm has built ahead of our course. It is fast approaching and there is no time for us to go anywhere else but through. I suggest the three of you shed your heaviest clothes and be prepared to hang on.”

Color drains from Kurt’s face and he pinches his eyes shut when the ship tilts again, a surge of wind beating against the hard wood of the hull. “You expect we might need to swim?” He asks.

Hafsteinn shakes her head. “It is my hope that will not be necessary,” she says. “We have done all we can to ensure safe passage and the captain will not let us capsize without a fight. It is only a precaution for now.”

Percy, already pulling off his coat and boots, has to sway to keep his balance while standing and grips the table, glad that it is bolted to the floor. “Is there anything we can do to help?” He asks. “Perhaps I could--”

“No,” Hafsteinn fixes a hard look on Percy first, then the rest of them, one by one. “The most helpful thing you can do is keep from underfoot, _ down here, _ while we manage the situation. Stay safe and out of the way, nothing else. If you require attention, tell me now so that I can assign a cabin boy to you, otherwise, you will sit in this room until we are clear or an evacuation has been ordered. Understood?”

“Yes,” Percy says at the precise same time Constantin says “But what if--”

“_No,_” Hafsteinn repeats herself, her full attention on Constantin now. “That was not a question, it was an order. This isn’t some quaint summer shower for you to write home about and I am not going to tell the prince his son went overboard in a bad wind.” She glances at Percy, gesturing at Constantin with her thumb. “Does he need to be locked in his quarters?”

“No, no,” Percy rushes to assure her and motions for Constantin to hand over his cloak, which he does after another brief bout of annoyed theatrics. “We will wait for someone to relieve us when the danger has passed. Won’t we, Constantin?” 

Constantin glares at him but nods, shooing Hafsteinn away with the flat of his hand. “Yes, madam, I promise not to bother any of the sailors, though I’m positive they would welcome a distraction in such deplorable weather.”

“A distraction is what we are trying to avoid,” Hafsteinn grunts. She looks to Kurt and parts her lips, likely to charge him with keeping an eye on them both, but just shakes her head at his grey pallor. She grabs a bucket from beneath another table and drops it in his lap.

“Don’t throw up on my ship,” she says. “It’s not getting any better from here.”

Kurt grimaces but gives her a weak salute. 

“Good. I have to get back to the helm. We all understand our roles, I trust?”

“Stay put, stay out of the way,” Constantin sighs. “Hardly unfamiliar instructions, my lady, fear not.” 

Hafsteinn, satisfied but exasperated, turns on her heel and disappears through the door. For a while, they can hear the echo of her barking orders on her way up the ladder but her voice is soon dwarfed by another clap of thunder that makes the bulkheads rattle. What began as staunch wind has only gotten louder in the last few minutes and _ The Sea-Horse _groans around them like a wounded animal, her fastenings strained as the waves get higher and higher. Water licks at the edge of the porthole. Lightning once again sets the cabin ablaze in white light and the ship jerks hard, throwing all three of them from their seats.

Percy manages to catch himself on his hands and knees but Kurt and Constantin hit the floor in a sprawl, heads narrowly missing the corner of the table. Kurt makes a choked sound and lunges to hunch over the bucket Hafsteinn left but Constantin wobbles to his feet and laughs genuinely for the first time all night.

“Finally!” He crows. “Some excitement on this dull expedition!”

Gripping the wall to keep from toppling over again, Percy hauls himself up. His eyes widen when his hand comes away wet; the waves have grown so high that the porthole has submerged beneath them and water has started to trickle through the storm cover.

“Not sure if ‘excitement’ is the word I would use,” he says. Though he trusts the Nauts and is sure they’ve sailed through worse, it is still hard to quench the anxious thrum of fear that pulses beneath his skin every time the ship tips over too far. 

“Come now,” Constantin chides and whoops again when the next boom of thunder makes the floor tremble. “You heard Hafsteinn, the Nauts are perfectly capable of dealing with a bit of rain so we might as well enjoy the ride.” He hangs onto Kurt’s shoulder to steady himself and his lips curl into a wicked grin. 

“I’m going to go upstairs,” he declares.

“Constantin,” Percy says warily. “We should do as she said and wait here. The sailors might know what they’re doing but _ you _don’t. It’s dangerous.”

Constantin wags his finger, already moving to the galley exit even as the tossing ship makes him stagger with every step. “It’s not dangerous, it’s _ adventurous! _When will we have another opportunity to see a storm at sea like this?”

“Never, I hope,” Kurt groans.

“Precisely!” Constantin gestures to Kurt as if Percy’s vote is somehow outnumbered now, a hand on the door. “Just a peek, cousin, I won’t be long.”

“Constantin--” 

But he is already two strides into the corridor and Percy has to jog to catch up with him, Kurt lagging just behind on weak knees. Constantin maintains a constant stream of babble to keep Percy from interrupting him and it is clear his opinion of the situation has been quite misinformed by fictional tales of piracy and peril at sea. To an extent, Percy has always admired his cousin’s sense of naivety and wonder despite all the dark marks on his life but with the storm bearing down upon them now, it just frustrates him that Constantin does not recognize the hazard he poses.

But no matter how many times Percy warns him, Constantin just dismisses him and soon, he is lifting the hatch to the deck above.

“Just a look,” he insists with a wink. The trapdoor clangs shut behind him.

Kurt and Percy share a long, resigned look at the bottom of the ladder.

“Seven hells, you don’t pay me enough for this,” Kurt mutters and shoves past Percy so that he can climb up after Constantin, hefting himself through to the deck as Percy begins his own ascent, an anxious squirm in his gut when the sounds above begin to get louder.

When he pushes through the hatch, Percy is blown into complete chaos.

The wind screams as if alive. It is ceaseless, wild, and the shriek it makes when it whips through the furled sails is like a vengeful spirit, terrible and violent and loud. The rain drives at an angle in brutal sheets and the crash of the deluge hitting the deck is a powerful static that encompasses all other sounds but the boom of thunder above. Percy isn’t ready for it. As soon as he makes it outside, he finds himself immediately bowled over by a savage gust.

Gasping, Percy grabs onto the side of an overturned barrel. He blinks, blinded by the gale, and struggles to turn his face away from the wind, trying to call for Constantin but only managing thin, meek breaths against the rainwater that pounds into his mouth and nose. Shielding his eyes with his arm, he fights to get his bearings.

No lantern could hope to maintain a flame in these conditions and it is darker than an eclipse on deck. The sea reflects a broken inkwell around them; an expanse of endless, churning, pitch-black water that makes the ship appear suspended in a void each time lightning explodes in the sky.

Percy looks helplessly around him. There are senior crewmen present on deck and they work as a finely tuned unit, calm focus present on every tattooed face despite the frantic pace they keep. Those on the ground shout commands over the gale. They throw ropes to riggers who scramble to keep up with every line that snaps like a dry bone, trying to protect the sails from unrolling. Their movements are restricted to small work areas by the lengths of cord each sailor has looped around their waist to keep them leashed to the ship, a sight that makes Percy shiver.

He has no such anchor. 

A wave slams into their starboard side and Percy is again thrown forward. He is disoriented, no longer sure where on the deck he is, and for the first time since kissing his mother goodbye, he feels afraid.

“Green blood!” Kurt’s deep voice barely registers over all the noise. He has Constantin gripped against him with one arm, the other grasping at the main mast, close to the ladder for the lower gun deck but holding like a sentry, waiting for Percy to make it to them. Percy isn’t sure how they got separated so quickly but it feels like an insurmountable distance to cross.

“Go!” Percy sputters. He waves his arm, compelling Kurt to get himself and Constantin out of danger. “I’m right behind you!”

Kurt hesitates and calls something back but it doesn’t reach Percy before the ship pitches hard and throws him back against the railing. When he manages to shake it off and regain his faculties, he can no longer find Kurt among the rush of sailors and holds a silent prayer in his chest that both he and Constantin made it down the ladder.

Still on all fours, Percy searches for something to support himself with and is shocked into full awareness when a hand closes around his forearm and wrenches him to his feet, tendrils of pain shooting out from the forceful grip. He is shoved until his back hits the bulkhead and Vasco’s furious voice rips through the dark.

“What are you doing?!” He bellows, hauling Percy up by the lapels. His face is contorted in a livid snarl, teeth bared as hair whips at his cheeks, and though every inch of him is drenched in frigid sea water, Vasco looks immovable. He has not secured himself to a piece of the ship like the others but neither does he struggle to balance himself, body moving to mirror the sway as if he knows which direction the waves will push them before it happens. The only thing keeping Percy on his feet is Vasco's fists in his shirt. 

Vasco's voice is hoarse from shouting over the roar of the wind, no trace left now of the contemplative, playful tone Percy has been getting to know. _“Answer me!”_

When the ship heaves, Percy flinches and his hands fly up to grasp Vasco’s wrists. He is disturbed and alarmed by this new rage in Vasco and should be faster to get away from him but he is just grateful to have something to hold onto.

Before he can explain himself, someone screams in warning from the other side of the deck and a terrible crack splits down the top of the mizzen. Sailors scatter as debris begins to fall from the splintered mast. Huge swathes of torn canvas and solid, brass rigging come down in every direction, each piece punching into the deck as it lands, and Vasco jerks suddenly, eyes wide.

“Branna!” He cries. “Move!”

Percy squirms out of Vasco’s hold and manages to twist himself just enough to see Hafsteinn at the helm right before a tangle of cables and a large pulley collide with the top of her head. She stiffens, blinks twice, dazed, then slumps over the wheel and goes still. Almost at once, the ship begins to list. The deck trembles beneath Percy’s feet and salt sprays his face when a massive wave breaks over the edge of the port side, flooding the deck with such force that Vasco crashes into Percy when it hits him, throwing them both off their feet. Percy smacks into the bulkhead. When he blinks the stars out of his eyes, what comes into focus makes his heart stop.

Vasco is on his knees. His eyes look young in the strobe of lightning; so wide and vulnerable, staring out at the wreckage that litters his ship as it tosses directionless and out of control. When the sky goes dark again, Vasco's gaze turns to the seizing waters, back bowed for a long moment, silhouetted against the rain like a monument to grief.

“Fuck,” he gasps quietly. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes then forces himself to stand. “Fuck!”

As soon as he is upright, Vasco yanks Percy’s arm and shoves him up the ladder to the helm. He only lets go of Percy to grab Hafsteinn when they reach her, pulling her body to the side so that she lies on the deck, still lashed to her post by a length of cable. He steps over the red puddle that spreads around head to grab a long coil of thick rope from beside the wheel and begins circling it around Percy’s waist, knotting it tight at his pelvis before moving to loop it over the same metal post Hafsteinn is tied to.

When he realizes what Vasco is doing, Percy freezes. “What are you doing?” He calls over the howling wind. “Vasco, stop, we have to get off the ship, it’s breaking apart!”

Vasco ignores him and grabs Percy’s wrists, forcing his hands onto the wheel. He guides him into a hold that steadies the rudder.

“You see this?” Vasco yells and slaps a small circular disk mounted to the pedestal beside the wheel, the red arrow of the compass just visible in the rain. “Hold this position and do not deviate from north, no matter what you see, no matter what you hear. Do not let this wheel move, do you understand?” 

Percy gapes. He has never touched a ship’s wheel in his life, Vasco cannot possibly expect this of him. “This is madness!”

Vasco draws a short, silver blade from his belt and has it against Percy’s neck in an instant, his preternatural balance all that keeps the sharp edge from piercing Percy’s throat. Rain streaks down his face but Vasco does not even blink, rising onto his toes so that he can crowd Percy against the helm. “Do you understand me?!” He shouts. 

Stunned, Percy nods.

Thunder quakes through their vessel. Without breaking eye contact, Vasco pulls the dagger away from Percy and turns it on himself in a deep, vicious slice through the flesh of his right hand, squeezing his fingers around the length of the blade until blood begins to well up between each knuckle. Then, still locked to Percy’s shocked gaze, Vasco takes a step forward and lifts his palm so that he can press it firmly over Percy’s mouth and chin, leaving a warm, red imprint painted on his skin as he withdraws. 

“_The captain keeps you,_” Vasco says breathlessly and then he is gone.

Hunched against the wheel, Percy watches Vasco sprint across the deck, his stomach in knots. Sailors part to let him by, clinging to their posts as wave after wave smashes into the side of the ship and sucks jetsam over the rail as it recedes. A great slurry of splintered wood and broken rigging rushes overboard into the dark sea and a young woman shrieks as she is nearly pulled out with it. Her tether just catches her.

Vasco does not stop to get her up. Lightning marks his shadow as he tears across the slippery deck, surefooted, and he shouts something that Percy cannot hear over the crashing thunder but gets the attention of the sailors. 

Those who can stand, do. Those who are pinned, do not.

Then, a unified thud reverberates through the maelstrom when every Naut on _ The Sea-Horse _stomps their foot or pounds a fist upon the ship’s body. Once, twice, three simultaneous bangs in the time it takes Vasco to reach the ship’s head. With the last of the rope fastened to his belt, Vasco throws his weight against the wind, plants both hands on the banister and, to Percy’s horror, vaults himself over the end of the prow. 

Time ceases. Percy hears himself scream Vasco’s name but his voice is swallowed in the clash of waves against wood and steel and the heartbeat-like rhythm of the Nauts striking the deck. It is a hollow sound but it reverberates through the night; fills the space between rain and wind until it feels the atmosphere itself could drown him. A bell starts to ring and the stomping gets louder, coming from everywhere in the ship.

Every hair on Percy’s body stands up when the smell of petrichor hits him. It’s familiar, recognizable as it always is, but more total and oppressive than he has ever experienced before. A silty texture coats his tongue. It tastes of copper. 

Magic smothers the air as Vasco’s form rises from the tip of the bowsprit. 

Percy stares in wonder. The ship pitches down sharply, violent spray crashing over Vasco as he hauls himself into the basket mounted on at the end of the spar, somehow unmoved by the squall. Vasco ties his lead into the shrouds then turns to the northern skies. They are well into the eye of the storm now and he faces it like a man prepared for war.

For several long, slow seconds, it appears like all of creation is orbiting Vasco. Explosions of thunderlight illuminate _ The Sea-Horse _in a world of crystalline ultraviolet with her captain as it’s steady, frozen center. 

The blood smeared over Percy’s chin begins to burn the same moment Vasco’s body bursts into a blaze of blinding, blue-green light.

His tattoos have come alive in a brilliant, luminous glow. They cut through Vasco's face and arms like veins of poisoned starlight, even as blood runs human and red from the well he carves into each hand. His eyes stay on the horizon as the dagger twists in his palms, silent until the wounds bleed freely, then throws the blade into the ocean.

Percy is paralyzed. He cannot comprehend what is happening. For most of his life, he has studied magic under the tutelage of some of the most renowned priests on the continent and even in its purest form, it has _ never _felt like this. This is not the subtle drift of dissipating ozone after soothing a bruise or the weight of exchange when a duel turns fatal: this is something cosmic. Something ancient. 

Inch by inch, the whole ship begins to light up. The Nauts, still beating the deck like a drum, all have the same eerie radiance hewn to their faces in varying degrees, following the lines of their tattoos. For some, it is just their chin, others to their decorated cheeks as well, but none shine so bright as their captain who burns like cold fire on the end of the prow.

Vasco throws his arms out and even so far back under the roar of rain, Percy can hear him begin to shout. It's haunting, not quite a scream but a deep, rising baritone that cleaves the thunder, building until each sailor joins and the storm is matched by the spectral howl of their united voice. 

Vasco draws his left arm in close to his chest. At the same time, a massive swell slams into their port side and sends the ship flying, her masts groaning under the strain. He extends his arm again, slower this time, controlled like a dancer, and their speed slows by fractions until the ship steadies as much as it can. Once more, he repeats the gesture but with the opposite hand. The ship lifts high in the water then falls, propelling them forward with enormous force.

Realization hits Percy hard enough to punch the breath from his lungs.

Vasco is commanding the waves.

So struck by a potent sense of awed terror, Percy doesn't see the torrent in time to brace himself. The ship heaves up vertically then smashes back down, water rushing in from all sides, high enough it goes over his head. Percy gasps as he rights himself and has to throw his entire body against the wheel to keep it from breaking out of his grip. He can hear Vasco’s voice in his head, his instructions to keep the ship pointed north, but his vision is blurred and so much rain has gotten under the glass face that he can no longer see the compass needle to confirm they are going the right way. 

He looks frantically around for anyone he can call to but there is no one on deck who is not focused on Vasco. Each illuminated face twists with primal screams as they continue to pound the ship, faster and harder as wind roars to outpace them. Lightning crashes. Percy's heart hammers wildly in his chest. 

It’s hopeless. Percy doesn’t know what direction the ship is facing anymore. Panic shatters in him like a window breaking and he begins to yank himself away from the wheel, breaths coming sharp and fast as he claws at the rope around his waist. He has to get off the ship. There is no outcome where this is survivable. But Vasco’s knots are too complex and tight for him to untangle and when he cannot free himself, his vision whites out.

Silence blooms in his mind. The air stills, droplets of rain suspended around him, and Percy's eyes slip closed as something cold and calm reaches into his chest and _ pulls. _It is the slightest feeling, like a whisper or intuition, a tranquilizing filament that tightens around his wrists and tugs him back to the helm.

_ This way, this way, this way-- _

When Percy opens his eyes again, he has both hands on the wheel. The droning in his ears vanishes and somehow, he can _ feel _the direction of north.

Slowly, he grips the spokes and spins the wheel hard to port. Light flares from the bow.

Percy whips his head up and sees Vasco being thrown violently against the edge of the platform, shoulders striking the center beam when he falls back onto his hands. The sea grasps at his boots each time the ship bobs and it takes him a long time to stagger back to his feet this time, one arm wrapped around his chest. He's injured, Percy realizes.

Hunched to one side, Vasco once again thrusts his arms in front of himself and begins to raise his hands. The molten glow of his skin pulses in perfect tempo with the _ thud-thud-thud _of boots beating the deck, intensity mounting until the bright shine engulfs the platform. Vasco's body dissolves into a radiant beacon just as his arms lift over his head and around them, the ocean expands.

There is a moment of weightlessness as the ship rises higher and higher, carried in the great breath of a massive wave as it erupts from below, drawing them over its crest at an angle so sharp, Percy's eardrums crackle. 

The ship hangs upon the roiling zenith. Each Naut hits the deck a final time before they drop into a crouched position, arms curled around their heads in anticipation of the coming fall, and everything begins to tilt. The sea surges and pitches the ship down hard, bowsprit plunging beneath the waves with Vasco still tied to it.

Vasco's bright tattoos are snuffed into obscurity as he is swallowed whole by the dark, bottomless ocean and that is the last thing Percy sees before he too is swept beneath freezing water. 

It's quiet under the waves. He can hear the ship creaking and groaning but it's muffled, far enough away that it feels like a dream. His feet leave the ground. Percy kicks against the current, trying to find which way is up, but he is tangled in his tether and cannot see anything in the black swirl of water. 

_ "This is it," _he thinks as something hard glances his side and he reflexively gasps in pain. Percy expects his lungs to burn when he inhales water but there is a sudden flash of blue, quick and bright like a match being struck, and the only thing he feels is a rush of tingles across his lips. It hardly matters, however. Whatever Vasco was planning to do has failed because the captain is surely dead by now. No one could survive being sucked down like that. Perhaps there is someone left of sufficient rank who has already called an evacuation but tied down to the ship as he is, Percy doubts that he will go further than this.

He hopes Constantin and Kurt are okay. His cousin won't fare well on a lifeboat but he'll survive as long as Kurt is with him and that gives Percy the peace he needs to close his eyes and let his body go lax in the water. 

He regrets that he will never see the fabled shores of Tir Fradi. His mission has failed before it could begin but there are many scholars outside the Congregation researching the malichor. Someone will still find a cure. 

A shame he's letting down his mother, though.

The ship jolts and rapidly, everything shakes into motion again. The pressure reverses, clawing through his clothes, and then the sea races out, dropping Percy hard on his back the moment cold air breaks over his face. The sudden intake of breath hurts when he coughs, rolling onto his knees to spit up water between short, shaking gasps. He presses his forehead to the deck. It takes him a moment to remember where he is.

His head spins when he manages to hobble to his feet. Rain still pours from the heavens but the wind has reduced to a shrill whistle and it no longer feels like the ship is on the verge of breaking apart. Some dazed sailors are cutting their ropes while others lie face down and motionless, still tied to their posts. Several voices clamor above the rest to start shouting out directions which initiates a cascade of movement throughout the ship, hatches flying open for the less experienced sailors to stream out from the ladder below.

No one glows anymore. Lanterns are fired to bathe the deck in orange light. 

Craning his neck, Percy turns in a slow circle. They have come to rest in the shadow of an enormous, submerged caldera, a high wall of rock that extends in a large, half-moon shape. It creates a barrier between them and the edge of the storm, shelter from the residual wind as it moves away from them.

They're clear.

Percy collapses against the helm and grips the front of his soaking wet shirt, a strained wheeze of slightly hysteric laughter escaping him. They made it. He is alive and the rumors of Naut magic are true and more terrible than anything he could have imagined. The air still sparks with the aftertaste and buzzes over his senses like a bad sunburn. He didn't hallucinate it. Which means--

"Medic!" Someone cries. 

A line of sailors has formed at the bow. Percy has just enough length on his rope to reach the other side of the platform and he watches as several men struggle to push through the wreckage and drag Vasco back over the rail. His body is dead weight in their arms. It takes three of them to hoist him back onto the deck and when they lay him down, his head rolls like a corpse. Percy catches a glimpse of his slackened face and sees blue lips awash in a stream of red that flows from his nose. Where his tattoos once came alight, a dry, porous residue now crusts over the ink like a scab, rough texture resembling bleached coral.

His eyes are open but unseeing, rolled back to the whites. Percy feels sick. 

Someone has started to perform chest compressions on Vasco while a healer gathers light in their hands above his head but judging by their insistent call for potions, he does not respond to either.

The urgent need to help finally gives Percy's hands enough coordination to untie himself from the helm. There is nothing he can do for Vasco but he can see downed sailors still on the deck and knows enough field medicine that he'll be able to stabilize the less seriously wounded while the medics do their best to revive the captain.

When he turns around, Hafsteinn has regained consciousness and is right behind him. She has blood starting to dry over the entire left side of her face, hair matted around the wound on her head, and her expression is murderous. Her fist snaps out and slams into Percy's face.

He lands on his side. He feels himself bounce once and sees her boots run past him as his vision tunnels to nothing.

When his eyes slide shut, they burn with the fading glow of vivid blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyway the Nauts are waterbenders or something and that is my explanation for why they have [a whole ass crows nest up there.](https://i.imgur.com/6klfwNa.jpg) Literally, that is why this fic exists. 
> 
> WHEW for real tho this chapter took me out. I re-wrote the whole thing and I'm still not totally happy with it but tbh I'm sick of looking at it!! I have edited to the best of my ability after so much time spent reading it so if there are any major errors, please pardon me. I always find the awkward parts 24 hours after the bastard has already been posted so just swing back through tomorrow if this reads like an incoherent mess. 
> 
> Don't come for me about ships not having wheels at this point in time, if the Nauts are advanced enough to have sonar, they probably had this figured out a while ago.
> 
> The art in this chapter was a commission from the wonderful and amazing [hearse!](https://twitter.com/SvetozarNien) We initially connected in the Detroit: Become Human fandom and I'm so thrilled they were willing to work with me in an unfamiliar fandom. 
> 
> Next chapter is a lot of pain and more exposition than anyone could ever possibly need. I would apologize but this is already so self-indulgent, I'm just leaning into it at this point. 
> 
> Connect with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sleepfights) or [tumblr!](https://sleepfight.tumblr.com)


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